


A Difficult Concept to Grasp

by AnnieVH



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Birthday, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-10-26 20:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10793877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: As Gideon's 29th birthday approaches, Rumple and Belle are excited to finally be able to celebrate with their son. Gideon, though, isn't sure if that's what he wants.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Maddie did the beta, as always.  
> There are a few mentions of child abuse at the beginning, but very briefly.

 

At some point, once his coordination returned after a period of long limbs and constant struggles with his own body, Gideon realized he was an adult. He could tell so because he was as tall as Mother, and much taller than the children in the mine. Since they didn't live long past their teenage years, that probably meant he was all grown-up now.

He wasn't sure how old that made him, Mother wasn't very forthcoming about these things. Once, he'd dared ask her and received the number “seventeen” as a dismissive answer, even though he was pretty sure the last time he'd asked she'd told him, “You're twenty, dearie! And aren't you a handsome young man?”

It was frustrating not to know, though Gideon wasn't sure why. Age was just an empty number that didn't apply to the Dark Realm. Most children who were old enough to remember theirs stopped counting as soon as they realized there were no sunsets and sunrises in a mine. As for himself, being a child or an adult changed nothing. Mother continued to treat him the same way, addressing him in that sweet sound that didn't have an ounce of happiness in it. Most times, he didn't even understand her words unless they had consequences.

 _Pride_ was a good word, it meant he'd done as it was expected of him and that she was happy. There would be peace in their home and plenty of food. _Disappointment_ was the complete opposite, it meant an endless stream of apologies was in order, which would most certainly be followed by pain. Somewhere in between the lines there was _affection,_ which was something you received when you exceeded expectations.

But age was beyond his grasp. There was only old (as in, “she's hundreds of years old, she can do as she pleases”) and young (“the children in the mine are young, therefore they are inconsequential”). He fell somewhere in between, which meant more responsibilities and higher expectations from Mother. That was about it.

When she imposed that number on him – twenty eight! - Gideon didn't know what to do with it. It meant nothing to him. He'd never celebrated a birthday, not like other children did. He never thought that being older was something to be happy about, it was simply a natural occurrence, either resulting in no changes whatsoever, or changes so drastic to one's body that he'd much rather have remained a child.

Yet, there it was. Twenty eight. A number that he didn't ask for and that forced things into perspective. That was too long. Longer than he'd expected. He didn't know what to do with it. There was something final about the sound of it, though, as if Mother had been waiting for this day and whatever came after it didn't matter. He wouldn't have to worry about that dreadful thing, his birthday, ever again.

The Black Fairy was gone, though, and his parents, as he was about to find out, had other plans.

 

 

 

If it was up to Belle, she'd make this a surprise. Something small, but with guests, a good number of them. Gideon hadn't made many friends in Storybrooke in a year, so they'd be mostly family. Maybe a few friends of friends? That could help him become more social. There also had to be music, it was time that she taught their boy how to dance. And a pile of presents. Yes, she was always buying Gideon presents, but this time she wanted to give him a special one. There had to be something that he wanted, something fitting of the occasion.

Rumple was the one to step on the brakes and ask her to go a different route. A surprise party might not be the best way to go, considering their son had never had a proper birthday. It might be better to get him involved in the decisions, ask what he thought was best so he wouldn't be overwhelmed.

“Besides, do you really want to see what happens when a bunch of people jump out of the dark and screams 'surprise!' at our very traumatized son?” he said, as they waited for the coffee to brew and for Gideon to come downstairs for breakfast. These days, Gideon was doing much better than when he first returned home, but he didn't want to tempt their luck, trigger a knee-jerk reaction and get someone stabbed.

Belle hissed. “Yes, that's a good point.”

“I'm sure he'll just want something quiet at home, anyway.”

“But he's always at home, Rumple,” she pointed out. “That's what I'm saying. We could use this opportunity to, you know, get him more involved with other people.”

“He... talks to Henry. On a regular basis.”

Belle placed her hands on her hips. “When was the last time you saw him talk to Henry? Or anyone for that matter?” Before her husband had the time to answer, she added, “And I don't mean family meetings, when we're trying to solve a crisis.”

Rumple's words died. Truth was, unless the Charmings invaded the shop and demanded help, Gideon would much rather not talk to anyone other than his parents. Even getting him to see Dr. Hopper was a struggle. On the few occasions that they'd gone to family gatherings, he'd rather stand in a corner by himself and hated being the center of attention. Being the son of the Dark One and the minion who'd almost caused the Savior's demise didn't help his popularity either.

“Fine!” he gave in. “I'll push for the party, but he won't be convinced that easily.”

Belle gave his skeptical face a kiss, looking optimistic. By the time Gideon got downstairs, already suited up for work, she could barely contain her excitement.

“Look at you, you look so handsome,” she beamed.

Gideon looked at his attire. It was the usual black shirt and black tie he wore every day. Rumple had tried to introduce some colors into his wardrobe but his son hadn't been keen on the idea. Colors were not practical and they made you easy to see, and insisting that no monsters were going to jump out of the walls hadn't convinced Gideon otherwise.

“What are you talking about? I look exactly the same as yesterday,” he said, crouching down to give her a hug. When she lingered, he looked at his father for an explanation, but Rumple just gave him a shrug, suddenly feeling a little emotional himself. He _was_ a handsome man, his son. Handsome and clever and brave, just like his mother.

Belle finally let him go and clapped her hands on each side of his face, unable to look away.

“Did something happen?” Gideon asked, expecting bad news to be dropped at any minute.

“No, nothing happened, I'm just happy that you're here with us. It's been a long year.”

“Has it been a year? I wasn't sure.”

“Almost a year.”

“Let the poor boy eat, Belle,” Rumple said, waving them to the table.

Gideon still looked suspicious of her behavior, though outbursts of emotions were not that unusual coming from his mother, but he sat at his usual chair and allowed her to fuss over him. Belle did that a lot, especially at meals. The first time they sat down to eat as a family, Gideon had asked for a small portion and kept mostly quiet, starting his few statements with “May I speak?” It horrified her when she realized that he wasn't trying to be polite, but actually asking for her permission to be heard.

No one was ever going to tell her boy he couldn't speak his mind. No one was ever going to starve him. Sometimes, she served so much food onto his plate and asked him so many questions that her husband had to signal for her to slow down and give him time to breathe. Gideon wasn't good at taking care of himself, but he was even worse at setting boundaries.

“So, Gideon,” Belle started, as casually as she could half-way through breakfast, “your father and I wanted to ask you something.”

Gideon looked up from the stack of pancakes he was devouring, curious and perhaps a little concerned.

“As you know, it'll be August 31st in a week.”

He nodded. When he didn't say anything, Belle continued. “And we wanted to know what you'd like to do about that.”

“About what?”

Rumple said, “It's your birthday, son,” before Belle had the time to stare at him.

“Oh.”

“Remember, we talked about it a few months ago,” Belle said.

Gideon nodded. He did remember that. It had been his mother's birthday and, out of curiosity, he'd asked her what day he'd been born. He didn't expect to ever do anything with that information, though. It had just been a passing thought and it slipped his mind within a few days.

“Right. August 31st. I'd forgotten.”

Belle gave Rumple a quick look. _See what I mean?_

“Well,” she said, “it is and it's less than a week away, so we were wondering what you wanted to do for your birthday.”

Gideon stared at her, at a loss. This was going worse than Belle had expected. Part of her had hoped for a little enthusiasm on his part, though she knew that was highly unlikely. At the very least, she thought he'd be curious about the concept of birthdays and how people commemorated them in this land.

“I mean,” she explained, “wouldn't you like to have a party? Gather some friends?”

“Like we did for your mother's birthday,” Rumple said, trying to help. “It's usually how people choose to spend their birthdays.”

“You didn't have a party,” Gideon pointed out.

His mother favored large gatherings of people and great celebration where his father would rather stay at home and have dinner with his wife and son. Mother had laughed and danced and introduced him to so many people he could barely remember their names, then returned home late with a pile of presents he'd helped carry. Father had received a single wristwatch Gideon and Belle had purchased for him and ate a slice of cake. Each had seemed perfectly satisfied with their choice of celebration.

Truth be told, neither appealed to him.

“We could do something private, of course,” Belle said, without batting an eye. “Just the three of us and anything you'd like to eat. But I think you could take this opportunity to, you know, talk to other people. Have some fun.”

Gideon looked at his father, silently asking his opinion.

Rumple shrugged. “We'll do whatever you want, but I think your mother has a point.”

“Well, do I have to decide now?”

Rumple shook his head, “No, of course not.”

“Take your time, sweetie,” Belle said. “We still have six days. And we can always celebrate a little later, if you'd like.”

Celebrate. He didn't like that word. Not at all.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: minor references to self-harm.

Not for the first time, Rumpelstiltskin thought to himself that Baelfire had been easier to deal with. It wasn't a nice thought for a father to have, but he couldn't help it. Even as a resentful grown man, Bae had been easier to read than his brother. He wore his heart on his sleeve and allowed his emotions to flow unrestrained. Might not always be an easy trait to live with but at least there was never any doubt as to how angry or hurt his son was. With Gideon, he could never tell.

Being raised by the Black Fairy had toughened him up, something that he sometimes brought up with a bit of pride. He was a resilient man and a skilled warrior, but he thought silence and endurance were signs of strength and it was hard for a parent to work around that, especially when you knew so little about your child. Granted, communicating was easier now than it had been a year ago when neither Belle or himself could get a word out of him and all their questions were met with a complacent, “Whatever you think is best, father.” But he still wished that knowing what was going on inside Gideon's head required a lot less prying.

One thing was sure, he would go out of his way not to disappoint his mother, something Rumple noticed early on. It wasn't out of fear, he simply understood how much pain this whole ordeal had caused her and didn't wish to be the source of any more sorrow. Belle had already been through enough. More often than not, Rumpelstiltskin found himself in the role of a mediator between Belle's eagerness to mother a child and Gideon's skittish attitude towards affection. Judging by the way his son had spent the last two days in melancholy silence, it seemed like it was time to intervene.

Since the town was going through an unusually long stretch of peace and quiet, the Charmings hadn't barged into his shop in a while and the clientele went back to being virtually non-existent. Gideon made use of that time to study his father's books, some of which were very different from the ones he'd been allowed to read as the Black Fairy's pupil. He was also working on translating old fairy tomes into English, claiming there were still many spells and stories not even the Dark One knew – which was ludicrous, as far as Rumpelstiltskin was concerned, he indulged his son. At least he had something to keep him distracted.

Today, Gideon was slumped in his favorite armchair, holding a heavy volume in his lap, seemingly concentrating on it very hard. Rumple knew what a wall was. He didn't want to talk. It was best to proceed with caution.

“Is that one of Mother Superior's books?” he asked, though he could see the cover was not as worn out as the other books she'd lend her godson.

Gideon raised it enough to show him the title. One of Maleficent's early writings.

“If you're thinking of turning yourself into a dragon, I have better books on the subject of metamorphosis.”

“Haven't gotten to the dragon part yet.”

He lowered his head again and continued to read.

“Your mother just called,” Rumple said, not wanting to lose his attention. “She's bringing us lunch.”

“Not hungry.”

“You should still eat.”

Shrug.

Rumpelstiltskin sighed. Screw caution.

“You know you're allowed to say no, don't you?”

“Say no to what?” Gideon replied, not even looking up this time.

Rumple swallowed his own impatience at Gideon's stubbornness and tried again, gently, “What I mean is that you don't have to have a party if you don't want to.”

Gideon mumbled “Right,” with just as much disinterest, pretending to be oblivious to the issue and concentrating on the book he wasn't actually reading.

Rumple waved it away with a whiff of magic. Now his son was looking up.

“I'm telling mother you're using magic on the books.”

“And I'm telling mother you're lying to make her feel better. Which do you think she's going to care about the most?”

“I'm not lying to make her feel better.”

“You're thinking of it.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Is clairvoyance one of your Savior abilities? I wasn't aware.”

Rumpelstiltskin huffed, glaring back at his son's challenging eyes. Sometimes he had the feeling Gideon was testing him, trying to see just how far he could push until his father reacted more like the Black Fairy would. Truth be told, keeping a leveled head was not always easy.

“I'm only trying to help you,” he said. “There's no need to get defensive.”

“I'm not defensive,” Gideon said, though his tone indicated otherwise. “I just think you're making a big deal out of it.”

“All I'm saying is that Belle won't be disappointed if you decide to celebrate quietly at home.”

Gideon shrugged. “Maybe a party would be fun.”

Rumple narrowed his eyes, examining Gideon's face. There was no honesty or enthusiasm in that statement and his son knew it.

Gideon rolled his eyes. “Very well, it sounds dreadful. But perhaps I should give this a try anyway.”

“Gideon, your mother won't mind-”

“ _Because_ it's what people do in this realm,” he said. “Might as well get that over with. If it makes mother happy in the process, I fail to see the downside.”

Gideon sprang to his feet and beelined for the curtain before his father had the chance to argue. Rumple followed him to the front of the shop, only to realize his son was aiming for the door. Since he hadn't used magic to get away faster, though, he made one last attempt.

“Where are you going?”

“For a walk.”

“Gideon, before you go-”

“Father, do you remember what Dr. Hopper said about boundaries?” he asked, not even turning around. “You want to talk, I don't. Drop it.”

“I don't want you to talk, I just want you to listen for a moment.”

Reluctantly, he stopped, his hand already on the doorknob, not to leave any doubts as to his intentions to get away.

“Your mother will be here next year, so will I. And so will you, for that matter. You can have a party when you're thirty or forty and it won't make a difference. You don't have to rush into this.”

He waited to see if Gideon had anything to say. He didn't, and his face was betraying no emotion other than an urge to get away.

“You're young, is all I'm saying,” he went on. “You'll have time to try these things when you're more comfortable with them. There's no need to jump into it.”

“I know that,” Gideon said, lying through his teeth. Rumple decided not to point that out, instead nodding, “Good. Because you're going to have many more birthdays to come. No one will mind if they have to wait another year to celebrate.”

“Can I go now?”

“Yes, but be back before one o'clock. This is still a place of business.”

He waited for Gideon to tease that they never sold anything and never had any real clients, but he left without another word, looking more troubled than before. When Belle walked in five minutes later, asking where their son was, he was quick to say, “We brought up this birthday thing too soon.”

 

 

 

Many birthdays to come, that was what father had said and that was what kept looping in his head as Gideon shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fists punching the air, aiming at some invisible adversary he couldn't quite shape in his mind.

The prospect of time sounded so innocent when father put it like that but he still didn't know how to feel about it. No, not true. He knew _exactly_ how he felt about it. It was a mixture of queasiness and restless, boiling into something volatile, something he didn't like and couldn't control just as much as he couldn't help it. According to everything he'd seen so far, this was not very birthday-ish.

What he didn't know was how to make this go away and make himself feel _normal_ about it. Mother would want that, a chance to have a special occasion with her only child after having been deprived of so many. Father tried to take his side, as usual, but Gideon knew him well enough by now to see through him. He wanted a celebration, something to put all that sorrow behind them. This year, the next, the next ten, the next twenty-

His fist connected with the wall before him. Some part of him knew that this was going to hurt later, but right now he barely felt it. He punched it again. And again. And again, until he saw the tiniest smudge of red on what was left of the wallpaper. Had this not been the middle of the day, that wouldn't have stopped him, but he didn't want to hear from father once he returned to the shop. He'd promised he'd keep to punching soft things, or simply resorting to magic when his temper got he best of him. If either of them though he was about to break the bones in his hand, they'd keep him from coming to the Sorcerer's Mansion altogether and he needed a quiet place for himself.

He had his own room at his parents' house but that wasn't always enough. There was this implied understanding that mother and father were there, keeping an eye on him and his every move. They needed a child to parent, someone to protect and to spoil. They fed him, dressed him, comforted him and that was good. It was also too much.

As luck would have it, the Mayor's office didn't know what to do with the big house on the hill, since no one had claimed it and there were no records of anyone ever having lived there. They weren't even sure at what point in time the Sorcerer's mansion had surfaced in Storybrooke. As a consequence, the building was empty unless someone needed its library or a portal. He'd heard there was talk of turning it into something else but no one seemed to agree what that should be. The Dark Curse, as bad as it had been, had given the town enough infrastructure not to want for anything.

That worked in his favor. Solitude was familiar and the mansion had large, empty rooms where he could stretch, pace, or train without his mother barging in on him, asking, “Gideon, maybe you've pushed yourself enough for one afternoon.”

Today, he wanted to punch a wall, something to make him callous and distracted. His shadow wouldn't fight back and, while he missed having a partner to practice on, he felt safer fighting the wallpaper. There was no chance of getting lost in himself and taking things too far when you were alone.

Gideon looked at his knuckles. He could excuse a little bruising, any more than that and he'd be in trouble. This wasn't nearly as satisfying though. He took a step back and thrust one hand into the air. The wall before him exploded in a mess of bricks and dust.

It would have made him feel better if only someone on the other side of it hadn't screamed.

 _Oh no_.

He waved the dust out of his eyes and shoved his head through the hole he'd made, searching for what he hoped was a living and mostly uninjured woman. As luck would have it, she was not only uninjured, she was standing with her fists up and staring at him through fierce eyes. A fellow warrior, good.

Gideon breathed. “I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“What _the hell_ just happened?” she asked, never putting her guard down.

“I... hit the wall.”

She lowered her eyes to the bruises on his fists, then took in the size of his arms and torso, barely concealed by his undershirt, and concluded, “You're not that strong.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“To bring down a wall with what seemed to be a single punch.”

Gideon stared at her as she finally put down her hands, no longer considering him a threat. He knew that she had a point but that still felt like a stab to his ego.

“I'm a sorcerer,” he said, through gritted teeth.

“I assumed. You should wrap your hands, or else you might break some-”

Gideon put the wall back into place with a swift wave of his hand, hiding the woman's face and voice in the other room where they couldn't annoy him anymore.

 _And mother insists I should make friends_.

He consulted the wristwatch he'd left aside with his shoes, shirt, and tie. Fifteen more minutes to one o'clock. He could go home, change, and be at the shop in time if he used magic. To make sure father didn't nag him about not eating properly, he'd grab an apple on his way out. And some ice for the hand.

He was done buttoning his shirt when the door opened and the woman from the other room walked in. Up close, she didn't look as small as he first thought she was but she looked very thin, with delicate wrists. Gideon was somewhat vindicated at the thought at the poor thing trying to punch a wall and failing miserably. She'd pulled her hair back, giving him a clear view of her pretty face and Gideon was terrible at remembering other people, but he was pretty sure that he'd never seen her in town before.

She paced the room without paying attention to him.

“Can I help you?” he asked, as she stood by the large windows that opened to a garden. He didn't care about the view but the air circulation was much better here than anywhere else in the mansion.

“Don't mind me, I'm just here to see the place,” she said, sounding indifferent to him. Gideon could hear a hint of hostility as well.

“You better start upstairs, I'm using this room.”

“You look like you're leaving.”

He twirled the tie in his hands, playing for time. “I haven't left yet.”

“Well, I can't start upstairs because this is the room I want to use.”

“Use for what?”

“I'm opening a training center.”

“A what?” he asked, his head snapping up.

“A training center. No, wait, Emma told me you have another word for it in this land.” She snapped he fingers. “ _Gin_? I'm opening a _gin_.”

Gideon frowned. “ _Gin_?”

“Yes. The Mayor thinks there's a dying need for self-defense classes in this town and the Sheriff agreed. Do you find this room stuffy? It's small, but maybe you can put that wall down again-”

“Stop! Stop!” Gideon cut in. “Go back and explain this to me. You're taking the house?”

She stopped, took a deep breath, and tried again. “Let's start over. My name is Mulan-”

“I didn't ask your name.”

He saw her tiny hand curl into a fist. Suddenly, it didn't look so delicate anymore.

“I'm not taking the house, I'm taking a room or two,” she said, and Gideon experienced a moment of relief before she added, “Other people are taking the rest.”

“ _What_? _Why_?”

“I don't know,” Mulan snapped back, done with his lack of manners. “Talk to them.”

“But this is absurd. I'm using it.”

She smirked at him. “Yes, to very skillfully hurt yourself.”

Gideon wrapped the tie around his bruises and said, “It's called conditioning,” though it might have been more accurate to say, “I'm taking my frustration out on the wall.”

“You look like you could use a teacher.”

The expression on his face must have reflected exactly what he was feeling, because she saw it and said, “Fine, well, how much longer are you going to need this room? Because I need to-”

“Just take it, I don't care.”

He turned away from her and forced his pained hands to stop shaking so he could tie a proper knot.

Behind him, Mulan wasn't pacing anymore.

“Just so you know, my classes will be open to everybody,” she said. “You could join some-”

“I don't need a class.”

“Do you need a sparring partner?”

“I could break you in half.”

To his surprise, she started laughing. When he looked at her, she said, “It's amusing that you think that,” and left to examine the garden.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Unless her husband or her son were holding her hand, Belle didn't like to use magic to move around and, had she thought she could arrive home before Gideon, she'd have driven her car instead of asking Rumple to take her home with a flourish of his hand. However, she was in a hurry. A little disorientation, plus stumbling on the coffee table upon landing, was a small price to pay.

Rumple had wanted to come along after what had been, in his own words, a frustrating conversation with their stubborn son, and he'd seemed ready to throw the caution with which they usually treated Gideon out of the window and demand that he told them what was bothering him. Belle, knowing that a confrontation would only escalate, said it was best that Rumple stayed behind and allowed her to do the talking. After all, this was her mess, no matter how many times her husband tried to convince her otherwise.

Belle liked to think that she knew what her child needed but, sometimes, she lost sight of how unique their situation was in her eagerness to give Gideon a happy life. Rumple had a point, they'd brought up his birthday too soon, she shouldn't expect her son to understand what something like that meant. His reaction to anything unknown tended to be either hostility or carefulness. Birthdays had gotten him curious, though. He'd been to Henry's party, then hers, and then his father's and barely raised an eyebrow at the strange traditions.

“Why does Henry want us to wear silly hats? Are these many people truly necessary? How come father's cake only has one candle if he's hundreds of years old?”

She'd been hopeful that his birthday would not be as much of a struggle as everything else. Apparently, she'd made a mistake and should've given him more time to get used to the idea of it.

It took Gideon another twenty minutes to arrive, giving her enough time to prepare him a plate of leftovers that he didn't even see when he walked in. There was an angry frown on his face and he looked to the world like he didn't want to talk – the moment he saw her, though, the frown dissipated into a neutral expression and his hands were immediately shoved inside his pockets. Belle eyed them, silently understanding what was going on, but kept her tone non-confrontational when she said, “You took your time.”

“I wanted to walk. Why aren't you at work?”

“I was with your dad when you texted him. I thought you were upset.”

“I just wanted some time to take a shower.”

“Were you at the Sorcerer's mansion?”

“Yes.”

“Needed to exercise?”

“Yes.”

“May I see your hands?”

He paused. “Why?”

“Because you clearly don't want me to.”

She held up her own hand, palm up. Reluctantly, he offered his. The left was fine but the right made her stomach churn. She'd seen it worse than this but it didn't matter. His knuckles were scratched and bloodied and it didn't matter that Gideon's hands were callous and used to fighting, she could only see them as soft and fragile. If he punched that wall a little harder he might break something one day.

“It's not as bad as it looks,” Gideon said, when she sighed.

“Let's get you cleaned up.”

She pulled but he didn't budge.

“It's fine, mother. I really need to take a shower.”

“It's not a request, sweetheart. You and I have a deal,” Belle said, a soft reminder where father's voice would've been firm.

Sometimes, Gideon thought father was the easiest to deal with out of the two of them. Had he been here instead, this conversation might be happening a tad louder and he would have no problem walking away from it.

Mother was hard to say no to. For all the determination he'd seen in her, she still treated him with such gentleness it was like she believed him to be made of glass. Whenever he was around her, part of him was ready to shatter in a million pieces because he knew with blind certainty that she'd gather up the pieces and put him back together, though he wasn't sure whether that thought was comforting or terrifying.

“I understand, mother,” he said.

“You were not supposed to be punching walls,” she continued, guiding him to the sink.

Without looking at her, he said, “I miscalculated the distance.”

She didn't believe him, but at least she didn't say anything as she helped him wash his hand.

Belle's opinion was that Rumple used magic way more than it was necessary but, in times like this, she actually wished she could heal her son faster. The Black Fairy was cruel, though. She made sure no one could heal his wounds, not even himself. If he wanted his pain to cease, he'd have to come to her and rely on her mercy.

Belle had wondered why the Black Fairy would have done something like this. It didn't seem like a practical step when you were trying to train a boy to become a soldier. Gideon's explanation had horrified her.

“Magic can make you complacent,” he'd said, matter-of-fact. “You can't fight your opponent thinking you'll have the time or the chance to step back and heal yourself. And besides... when you're the one causing someone pain, you wouldn't want them to be able to stop you.”

She didn't like the thought of her son lying in a dark cell, bruised and battered by that monster, but worse things went through her head. That woman was clever. By making herself his only chance of surviving, the only way to stop the pain, Gideon couldn't just see her as a heartless torturer. She was his savior, the Mother he could come to and ask for help when things became too much. All he had to do was prove that he had repented and that he would be a good son.

Gideon had gone as far as to say, “She was reasonable, most of the time,” and it had taken Belle all of her might not to start crying in front of him. The thought of that woman becoming his Mother filled her with anger. She was the one who was supposed to kiss his scrapped knees and make him feel loved and safe, not in debt. He shouldn't feel such gratitude for basic human decency.

“You're upset,” Gideon said as she washed the blood away. A tiny bit of it, really, but it seemed too much in her eyes.

“Not with you.”

She could tell that he didn't believe her.

“Perhaps a little bit with you,” she admitted. “You and your bad habits.”

“I know. I'm sorry, I was angry.”

Belle examined his hand. “I don't think you'll need bandages.”

“Good.”

He tried to slip away. She didn't allow it.

“You _will_ need lunch though.”

Gideon looked at the plate she'd set for him, full and warm.

“I can just have an apple, mother. Father is waiting for me-”

“I know. He'll probably have something to say about your hand.”

“Yes, I'm not looking forward to that.”

“If you're not looking forward, then you're not in a hurry.”

That was true. If he could avoid father and the angry ranting about keeping to one's promises, he could spare a few minutes to have a proper lunch.

Mother sat with him at the dinner table, watching him eat quietly. She always served him a ridiculous amount of food, and while he would've been perfectly fine with an apple, the mashed potatoes and chicken were more than welcome after the morning he'd had.

“Sorry I had to heat up everything,” she asked, after a few minutes. “You know what happens when I try to cook.”

“It's delicious, mother.”

“Yes, and it didn't burn the house down.”

He smiled a little. “That was only once. I'm sure you'd do better if you tried again.”

Belle smiled back at him. “Sweetheart, are you upset because of your-”

“I can't use the mansion anymore.”

“Oh...” she said, not very happy that he was changing the subject, but going along with it. “Why is that?”

“Some woman wants to turn it into a gin.”

“A _what_?”

“A gin. Isn't that what you call a training center?”

Belle laughed. “I think you mean a _gym_. A gymnasium.”

Gideon shrugged. “Regardless, she wants to turn it into that. And other people are going to use the house as well.”

“I'm sure we can negotiate a room just for you. Something with padded walls.”

Gideon stared at her.

“Because of the punching,” she explained.

“Ah.”

“And also... if they're making a gym, you can always join some classes.”

“I don't need a class.”

“No, but it might be good to meet some people who share your interests.”

Gideon sighed. “Is this the friendship talk again?”

“It's the... 'this is a good opportunity to meet people' talk.”

Gideon gave the thought two seconds of consideration before deciding, “I could hurt someone,” then shoving a large amount of food into his mouth so that he wouldn't have to talk for a while.

Belle thought about the best way to argue. Gideon had described the training he'd undergone as _intense_ , though she thought the word _brutal_ fit better. Pushing him to fight with other people could have serious consequences.

“As long as you have a teacher,” she said, “and you explain the situation, I think you should be fine.”

Gideon made no promises. The prospect of telling his story to a stranger wasn't appealing.

_Hello, my name is Gideon and I was raised by a horrible person, so I have violent tendencies and memories that tend to resurface when I least expect. Will you please keep an eye on me so that I don't slice anyone's throats during training?_

“Do you know who'll be in charge of it?” Belle asked.

“A woman named Mulan,” he answered, through a mouthful of chicken.

Her face lightened up. “Mulan? That's good news!”

“Do you know her?”

“She just arrived from Oz. She's a good friend. We defeated an Yaoguai together.”

“A Yaoguai is a monstrous demon,” Gideon said, finding it hard to place his tiny mother in a fight with such creature.

“I know, but that story has a happy ending. Perhaps I should invite Mulan over for dinner and we can tell you together.”

“I... might have been rude to her.”

She shook her head. “You just had to take after your father in that respect, didn't you?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “You mean my lack of people skills?”

“That, and that hot temper of yours.”

She held up his bruised hand to give his knuckles a soft kiss. Gideon had no idea why she did that whenever he had an injury, or how something as inconsequential as a kiss helped with the pain, but it did.

“Would you like to eat anything else?” she asked, eyeing his now empty plate.

“No, I'm fine, mother. Thank you.”

“Can we talk about your birthday now?”

Gideon sighed. He should've known she wouldn't drop the subject that easily.

“Fine...”

“I know that you're not keen on having a party,” she said. “We don't have to have one if you don't want to.”

“You want me to have one.”

Belle wondered for a moment just how honest she should be on the matter.

“Yes, I do,” she admitted. “I missed twenty eight birthdays and I wanted to have a special one with you. But I can wait another year, or another five.”

“Right, because birthdays happen every year.”

“Yes,” she laughed. “They're funny like that. I just want you to be happy and you're not going to make me sad if you decide to stay home and have cake with your dad and I.”

Gideon thought about it. “What if I don't want to celebrate?”

“We'll just have cake, like I said-”

“No, I mean, what if I don't want cake. Or a party. Or even stay at home and celebrate just the three of us.”

Belle seemed confused.

“What if I don't want a birthday?” he explained. “What if I just want to forget it's my birthday.”

She was staring at him now. “Why? I mean, we don't have to make a fuss about it. We could just have dinner and open presents.”

“I don't need anything. All I want is to treat that day like any other.”

“But... sweetheart, it's your _birthday._ You're turning twenty nine. You should do _something_ about it.”

Gideon paused. “You're right. Maybe we should have the party-”

“No, no,” she interrupted, hurriedly. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't- you're right, it's your decision. Can I ask why, though?”

Gideon searched his mind for a good answer. She wouldn't settle for “I just don't want one”. After a moment, he gave her a shrug. “Honestly... the concept of birthdays is just... so stupid. I don't get it. You're celebrating age. Why would I want to do that? What's the point?”

“People like it for different reasons. Personally, it just makes me happy to be with the people I love and know that they've been in my life for another year. I love you and I'm happy that you're here with us.”

“It's such a fuss, mother. I'd much rather ignore it.”

“But be honest with me. Will that make you happy?”

Gideon thought about it. “It will make it easier.”

She examined his face, then said, “It's your birthday, sweetheart. You can do whatever you want. No party, no cake, no presents.”

“And you promise you won't be upset?”

“I wish I could spoil you, but I suppose I can do that some other time. Just as long as you're happy.”

Gideon didn't know about happiness, but he felt as if a great weight had just been lifted from his heart.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Rumpelstiltskin spent the next hour drumming his fingers on the counter and worrying about what was going on with his son – a full-time occupations these days, and the one aspect of parenthood he hadn't missed. Somehow, he'd forgotten this tight feeling in his gut, this certainty that something was wrong and the way insignificant things could be blown out of proportion when you were a father. He knew that this constant worry would fade into instinct eventually, it had with Baelfire, but this was still his first year as Gideon's father, despite his son's age, and he didn't see himself worrying less any time soon.

Belle called to put him out of his misery just as he was contemplating going back home to check on them. She updated him on what he'd started referring to as the “birthday situation”, claiming Gideon had decided to forgo all birthday boy prerogatives, and then said that she thought there was something else bothering their son because (“And don't get, you know, the way you always get.”) he'd been punching walls again.

“He _what_?”

“You promised you wouldn't be mad!” Belle said.

“Apparently, it's alright to break promises today.”

“Rumple...”

“We had an agreement.”

“I reminded him of that.”

“He has _magic_!”

“I _also_ reminded him of that.”

“He shouldn't-”

“And nothing good ever comes from being confrontational with our boy so maybe count to ten before he gets there.”

Rumple huffed static into the phone. His next question was much more restrained. “How bad is it?”

He heard her pause as she thought it over, trying to be fair about her assessment.

“It's been worse,” she admitted. “I suppose he just wanted to blow off some steam.”

“He knows what to do when he wants to blow off some steam, Belle,” he said, just as severe as Belle expected him to sound. “He's powerful enough to bring that entire building down without breaking a finger.”

“I know.”

“Maybe letting him use the Sorcerer's mansion was a mistake.”

“That won't be a problem much longer.”

“Did you forbid him from going?”

“I didn't have to.”

She went on to relay what Gideon had told her and Rumple listened in silence. At the end, she sighed, “Worst part is that I'm glad. Does that make me a bad mother?”

“Never,” he said, immediately. “You're a wonderful mother.”

“He's miserable and I'm just happy he can't go back there to do god knows what. How does that make me wonderful?”

“You're concerned. It comes with the territory.”

She went quiet on the other side of the line, the way she always did when he tried to reassure her that she was doing well within their impossible circumstances. For Rumpelstiltskin, it was easier. He'd had a child before and he was similar to Gideon in his pain. The situation was far from perfect but he managed to slip back into the role of a father without difficulty. For Belle, it was a constant struggle.

Motherhood was not supposed to be so rushed, she should have had years not only to form a connection with her son and learn all she could about him, but also to make mistakes. Instead, she was expected to mother a grown man who could barely function in this world and who was still a stranger to her. Helping him adapt to this new life was like walking on thin ice where one wrong word could mean a huge setback. She never complained, though. She never asked for a break or wondered why she was given such a burden to bear. She put on a brave face every day and pushed through, and Rumple was glad she did. This year would've been much harder if she hadn't been by his side.

“I'll talk to him,” he said. “Maybe I can convince him the clock tower is private enough, if he really wants a place to hide.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Perhaps we can reach an agreement.”

“And I'll see if I can get to the bottom of this birthday aversion.”

“Just don't be too harsh on him.”

“You take the fun out of parenting.”

That got a giggle out of her. “I mean it, Rumple. He's clearly upset about something, I'd much rather find out what it is.”

“Fine, I'll keep the scolding to a minimum. Oh, and look who decided to show up.”

Gideon closed the door behind himself, saying, “Sorry I'm late,” over the sound of the bell.

“He's here now, love. We'll see you for dinner.”

“To a minimum, Rumple,” she reminded him, as he hung up.

“Was mother calling you about the hand?” Gideon asked.

“She was. She also told me you don't even want to acknowledge your birthday. How come?”

Gideon stared at him. “What, nothing to say about this?” He lifted his right hand, bruised and scratched enough to make Rumple's blood begin to simmer. If he didn't know the Sorcerer's mansion would soon be off limits, he'd have forbidden him from ever going back there.

“No,” Rumple said, coming around the counter. “I think putting you on cleaning duty is more effective than anything I might say on the matter.”

Gideon grimaced. “Can't you just take away my books?”

“I cannot, your mother would never allow such a thing. Do you really want to ignore your birthday?”

“Yes,” he answered, without offering much of an explanation.

“And why is that?”

“Because birthdays are pointless.”

Rumple nodded. “Granted. Personally, I don't see why people like to make such a fuss about these matters. But I did enjoy it when it was only you and your mother.”

“I don't see how that's necessary,” Gideon said.

Rumple opened his mouth to argue, but decided not to. Maybe stepping back and giving him some time to think things through would be more productive than squeezing him for answers.

“Very well, as long as you're happy.”

“I am,” Gideon said, looking anything but.

“In that case-”

Rumple snapped his fingers and Gideon found himself holding a mop and a bucket. His shoulders slumped.

“I'll be in the back if you need me,” he said, heading for the back of the shop.

“Great. Dad?”

Rumple turned around.

“I'm sorry for storming out this morning. And for hurting myself. It won't happen again.”

For a moment, his father stared at him, examining his face. Then, he said, “Nice try. You're still on cleaning duty.”

“Ugh, you're a mean boss!” Gideon said, hating, not for the first time, how transparent he seemed to be to his father.

 

 

 

After mopping, came dusting, which extended to the next morning due to the ridiculous amount of objects father had accumulated over the years. Polishing was next on the list, followed by alphabetizing all the books in the shop and finding them a suitable shelf because, according to father (and Gideon agreed), “Some of these volumes have been seriously neglected.”

The tasks were dull and Gideon hated them at first but by the time he got to the books he was grateful to have something to keep himself busy with. Knowing that he wouldn't have to deal with that dreadful day, plus the constant work, made time go by faster. Perhaps, if he kept this up, he wouldn't even notice his twenty-ninth birthday come and go. He never had, after all.

The following morning, Dr. Hopper tried to ask him about it in that tentative way of his, his words carefully phrased into a suggestion. _How does that make you feel?_ That was his favorite question. Dr. Hopper, like his mother, seemed to believe that every event in one's life deserved a cathartic, emotional reaction, and he seemed ready to dedicate the entire session to that particular one. Gideon switched the subject before he had the chance to get into it and spent the next hour ranting about what had happened at the Sorcerer's mansion. His reluctance to even give Mulan's classes a try had fascinated the good doctor and, in the end, Gideon left his office promising to seriously consider taking part in some group activities, but didn't give it much thought for the rest of the day.

It was the following evening when the subject of classes came up again. Mother walked into the shop after hours, as usual, looking happier than Gideon had seen her all week. Despite her initial disappointment, dropping the birthday idea altogether seemed to have improved her and father's mood considerably.

“What are you doing?” she asked, interrupting him as Gideon hoisted a recently polished canoe back to the ceiling.

“Father wasn't kidding when he said the cleaning would be thorough. Is there a story behind this? He won't tell me.”

“If he won't tell you, it's probably unimpressive. You know how he loves to brag.”

“I can hear you!” father yelled from the other room, though in good nature.

“You boys ready to go?”

“He's almost done with the tracking potion Emma requested. And I'm officially done with all the polishing.”

He put the cap back on the bottle of furniture polish with a little more flourish than necessary.

“Which was beautifully done, I can see,” Belle said, looking at the impeccable shop.

“It's just cleaning, mother.”

“You've done well, nonetheless.”

Gideon smiled. His parents seemed to have a compliment ready for everything he did, no matter how simple.

“Oh, and look what they're giving out at Granny's.”

Mother passed him a flier. It was simple and black and white, announcing an upcoming gym within the next month.

“And,” mother added, pointing at the bottom of the flier, “there is a form here, so you can leave them your information and phone number. Just in case. You could fill it out and leave it at Granny's, lots of people are doing it.”

“You don't give up, do you?” Gideon said, sounding a little amused by it for the first time. Now that the birthday party had been rejected, mother seemed to have focused on the idea of finding him a new place to practice, and some friends in the process. She'd asked after the changes happening at the Sorcerer's mansion, which included not only the new gym, but also an extension on the library – she tried not to sound too excited about that and Gideon appreciated it. Dr. Hopper wanted a room for group therapy, Mary Margaret was hoping for a place to teach crafts, and other people had pitched in their own ideas. Mother was sure one of them would appeal to him. Gideon wasn't keen on it, but nodding along and promising to think about it seemed like a small price to pay to make her happy.

“I never give up,” Belle said. “But you have a lot of time to mull it over, which is all I ask.”

She retired to the back of the shop and Gideon looked at the flier she'd left behind. It promised self-defense classes, sword fighting, and meditation, all of which, he hated to admit, seemed very appealing until he remembered he'd have to share the class with other people. Leaving aside the fact that violence didn't bring out the best in him, he'd never been good with people, or even used to them.

The Black Fairy had kept him away from the other children, unless she wanted him to bully them, and even her guards only ever talked to him to relay orders. The only real friend he'd ever had was Roderick, and he'd inadvertently caused his demise by being foolish enough to stand up to Mother when he should've known better. As far as friendships went, Gideon didn't have the best track record.

He thought things would be different in this town. No, he thought _he_ would be different here but he was just frightened as he was in the mines and people were just as much of a mystery to him now as they were before. Although... perhaps mother had a point. Perhaps joining some group activities could be a way in. Wouldn't make things worse, he supposed.

Finding a pen, he jot down his information at the bottom of the flier, then ticked the box for “meditation” under the question, “What would you be interested in doing?” Seemed like a safe place to start. A boring place, but safe nonetheless.

“Shouldn't you be cleaning?” father said, as he returned from the back of the shop with mother.

Gideon pocketed the flier quickly and, if they saw it, they were sensible enough not to say anything.

“Polishing is done, I'll start on the counters on Monday.”

“You can leave the counters to me. You've done a good job.”

Gideon looked up to answer that he didn't mind the extra work – though the counters were the absolute worst to clean – when his eyes locked on what father was carrying: a large blue box tied with a golden sash. Beside him, mother looked nervous. They both went out of their way to give him new things whenever they thought he could use a little pick me up, but he could tell this had been father's idea. He always went above and beyond with the wrapping.

“I said I didn't want presents,” Gideon said, trying not to be too harsh.

Mother sighed. “I told you he wouldn't be alright with this.”

“No, no,” father insisted, “this isn't a birthday present.”

“Looks like it.”

“Yes, it's rather deceitful, isn't it? But this is for something else. Have you heard of a realm called Wonderland?”

Gideon thought of his earliest lessons. “I've been told everyone who lives there goes mad.”

“That's true,” father agreed. “Despicable place, really. Nothing makes sense. And they have a curious tradition called 'the unbirthday'.”

“That means they celebrate it every day of the year, except on their actual birthday,” mother explained.

Gideon cringed. That sounded worse than what they had in this realm.

“We don't really do unbirthdays on the Land Without Magic,” father said, reading his expression. “Except today.”

He placed the box on the counter between them and both took a step back, allowing him to take it or leave it.

Gideon looked at them a little annoyed. This felt like cheating, but since they wouldn't be getting a birthday party this year (or any year, as far as he was concerned), this seemed like a reasonable compromise. And, truth be told, father had made the damn box look rather appealing. He untied the sash and lifted the lid. Inside, there was a pair of padded gloves, plain black. When he took them out, they felt light in his hands. It took him a moment to realize what they were.

“Are these for fighting?”

“They are,” father said. “And they were not a birthday gift to begin with. We got them yesterday.”

“On the internet,” Belle explained, before he had the chance to ask. “Emma helped.”

“Now you can punch all the walls that you wish without hurting your hands.”

Despite his aversion to his own birthday, Gideon couldn't hate the gift. It was perhaps the most thoughtful thing they'd ever given him.

“They're nice,” he said, “but you can't pull this trick every day of the year.”

“You have my word this is a one-time thing,” father said, in a solemn voice.

“In that case, thank you. I like them.”

His parents smiled at him. A little too sweetly.

Gideon put his gloves back in the box and looked at them. “What is it?”

“What is what?” father said, while mother shrugged, feigning confusion.

“What is it that you both want so desperately to say but think will upset me?”

Belle and Rumple exchanged a look. Apparently, just as they had spent the past year learning about their child, Gideon had been observing and taking notes himself.

Rumple motioned for his wife to go first. This subject required more tact than he usually had.

“We were just wondering,” Belle said, “if, other than the pointlessness of it, there was anything else bothering you about your birthday.”

“No,” Gideon answered, pretending the matter was just that simple.

“Right. Because you seem a little riled up whenever we bring it up.”

“I'm not riled up, I'm just indifferent about it.”

“Yes, and that is a valid point,” she granted. “But maybe there's something else that's bothering you and, maybe, you'd like to discuss that with us.”

“There isn't,” he said, and they could hear a warning slipping into his voice.

“Because you know you can talk to us,” mother continued. “About anything-”

“Or we could drop the subject, like we agreed on?” Gideon asked. “I'd much rather just go to dinner.”

He took his present from the counter and turned around, and perhaps they might have gone through a mildly awkward dinner while actively avoiding certain subjects, if only father hadn't asked, “Is this about Roderick?”

Belle closed her eyes. _Bloody hell, Rumpelstiltskin_.

Gideon turned around and stomped back to the counter. He put the box down and demanded, “Are you _kidding_ me?” in his usual, soft voice. She'd much rather hear him rage and scream, at least then she'd know what was going on in his head.

“It's fine if it is,” Rumple said, unaffected.

“I didn't tell you about Roderick so that you could throw him in my face whenever I'm upset.”

“I'm not _throwing him_ in your face,” Rumple said, tense, not appreciating his choice of words. Belle rested a hand on his arm, reminding him silently to remain calm and Rumple tried to heed her advice. “What I'm saying is that losing him must have been very difficult and no one expects you to be fine with it.”

“How nice to have permission to grieve.”

“Don't be difficult, Gideon,” Belle said, sensing Rumple's patience running out. “We're just trying to understand.”

“There's nothing to understand. Why are you both making a big deal out of this?”

“Because if there is something upsetting you-”

“There are _several_ things upsetting me!” he snapped, making her go quiet. “I have _twenty eight years_ of upsetting events in my head and a dead friend is only one of them.”

“Honey-”

“But right now, what's upsetting me the most is, _surprisingly_ , the two of you!”

The truth slipped his lips before he had the chance to bite his tongue and keep it down, where it couldn't hurt anyone. He regretted it the moment the words came out but there was no taking them back now. They hit his mother hard, like a punch, making her eyes water and squeezing the tiniest sigh from her. Gideon couldn't think of a more sorrowful sound. Father' hand rested on the small of her back, knowing just how deeply she'd taken his words. He looked guilty, as if he'd been responsible for getting them to this point.

Suddenly, Gideon couldn't look them in the eye.

“I'll have dinner by myself,” he muttered, turning around.

“Gideon, please-”

“Son, we're-”

“See you at home.”

He ran away before either had the chance to say anything, leaving the gloves on the counter this time.

Rumple sighed and tried to follow. “I'll go. Maybe he wants to throw some fire balls at me.”

Belle held his arm, though, saying, “No need. I think I get it.”

“You do?” he asked, a little skeptical. “Because I'm as confused as ever. I actually thought this was about Roderick.”

“No, not Roderick,” Belle said, quietly, rubbing tears off her face. “Not just Roderick, anyway. It's everything else.”

 

 

 

Gideon stomped down the street, feeling guilty and fighting the urge to smash the mail boxes in his way. He shouldn't have said that, it had been unnecessarily mean to the people who'd really done nothing to him but try to make him happy. And now mother was crying. She didn't deserve that.

Guilt didn't make him any less frustrated, though. They should've just dropped this, why did they have to be so overzealous about everything? And why did father have to bring up Roderick? Roderick was off limits. Gideon was the one who brought him up and not the other way around.

He trudged down the street. One block, two blocks, on the third block he stopped and took a deep breath. He didn't want to go home yet, he'd much rather avoid having to talk to his parents for at least a little longer. He didn't have the energy to go through another round of prying questions and apologies.

With the mansion now off limits, Granny's diner seemed as good as any other place to kill a couple of hours. At least he could eat something while he waited for things to cool down a little.

He crossed the street and, just as he was reaching for the knob, the door swung open and Mulan stepped out of the diner. If given the chance, he'd have vanished on the spot so that they wouldn't have to talk but she met his eye before he had the chance. Besides, according to mother, it wasn't polite to vanish just to avoid people.

“Hi,” he said, unwillingly.

“Hi,” she answered. “Is Granny tearing some walls down?”

Her voice was light so he forced a smile on his face. Mulan took a step to the side to let him in and he almost made it inside before she said, “Wait, is that my flier?”

“What?” Gideon looked down. Half the paper was sticking out of his pocket. The fight with his parents had made him forget all about that. “Yes, but I-”

“I thought you didn't need a teacher,” she teased.

“I don't,” he argued, firmly. “My mother wants me to give it a try.”

“Your _mother_?” she repeated, a little amused.

One of the things that puzzled Gideon the most about this realm was how shameful a mother's opinion seemed to be once you were an adult. He couldn't understand why.

“Just take this, will you?” he said, tearing the bottom half of the form where he'd written his information and shoving it into her hand.

Mulan took a look at it and said, “Gold. You're Gold's son?”

“I am.”

“Neal's brother?”

That gave him pause. “You knew my brother?”

“I did, back at the Enchanted Forest. He was a loyal man.”

“Right.”

She looked at the form again. “I thought Gideon was Belle's son.”

“I am.”

She frowned. “How?”

“I was raised in the Dark Realm.”

“I've heard tales of that place.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes. No wonder you were punching walls. I would too.”

Gideon didn't know what to say. Somehow, it was the nicest thing he'd heard all week.

Then she looked at the form again. “It's your birthday tomorrow.”

“So?”

“Nothing,” she said, puzzled by the anger in his voice. “It's just rather nice. How old are you turning?”

“Twenty nine, why _the hell_ does it matter?”

She stared at him. To his surprise, she said, “Sorry. I didn't realize it was a sensitive subject.”

“Leave it.”

“I should have a meditation class starting next-”

“I said leave it.” He snatched the form off her hand and crumpled it into a ball. “This was a bad idea.” And escaped into Granny's to get away from her before she had the nerve to wish him a happy birthday.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

The last thing he wanted was to talk to anyone, not even to wish them a good evening, so he kept his eyes on the floor and crossed the diner without looking up, straight to his favorite table. Because of his height – something mother insisted he'd taken after his grandfather, while father was convinced was just a side effect of a sped-up pregnancy – Gideon found it difficult to go unnoticed, especially in a town where everyone seemed to know each other. This table, though, was a forsaken treasure, hidden in a dark corner, behind the very last booth. No one cared for it and it was so into the back that it made him easy to ignore, which was exactly what he needed.

One of the waitresses spotted him as he was about to sit and tried to offer him a menu, but Gideon cut her short, saying, “Just give me the lasagna and some iced tea,” to get rid of her quickly. He knew that snapping at Mulan had been uncalled for but, truth be told, he didn't feel any less inclined to snap at strangers now if they so much as gave him a smile.

 _And you wanted to take part in group activities_ , he thought, the flier mother had given him now laying on the table. He'd told her he was too afraid to hurt someone, that the training he'd gone through when he was younger made him a danger to others. Now, he could see that wasn't even the greatest problem he had. Being among people was difficult. Being nice – the way mother was nice to everyone – took effort and he didn't know how to do that. Strangers were complicated.

Not that he did any better with mother and father, who he'd left heartbroken at the shop. He could see that he'd gone too far and yet, if they showed up at the diner within the next hour, Gideon knew he'd probably say the wrong thing again. Thankfully, they seemed to be respecting his request for privacy and left him alone.

The plan was to eat slowly, to give himself the time he needed to calm down and then go home. The food arrived and he devoured it with no pleasure, the lasagna feeling rubbery and tasteless in his mouth. Father constantly criticized it for the sake of annoying Granny and Gideon himself didn't think it was all that special, but he was quite sure the disappointing meal was due more to his own state of mind than Granny's cooking abilities. After that, he ordered a slice of apple pie, just to buy some time. It sat half-eaten in front of him until he grew tired of staring at it and asked the waitress to take it away.

And so it was time to ask for the check and go home... but he didn't.

At first, he told himself he'd just stay another half hour. It was still early, barely a quarter past seven, and his parents could use some time to calm down as well. Then, came another half hour, and another, filled with iced tea and staring at his watch. He even gave the stupid games Henry had installed on his phone a try but ultimately decided the cartoon characters looked too happy and the missions to match candies, rescue puppies, or kill poorly drawn pigs using poorly drawn birds made very little sense.

Around eight o'clock, Gideon realized he wasn't going to go home, he didn't want to talk to anyone and there was nothing he'd rather be doing than sitting at this table, wasting time. He took off his wrist watch, determined not to look at it anymore. Twenty minutes later, he was holding it at the tip of his fingers, staring intently as the second hand moved round and round, ticking the seconds away. The waitress stopped coming by after the third time he insisted he was fine, and soon he even forgot the other patrons around him, indulging in their friends or dates or whatever it was that people with less troubling lives did on a Saturday night.

Nine o'clock. Nine thirty. Nine forty five. Any time now, he should go home. Ten. Ten thirty. Ten thirty five. Mother should be in bed by now, though he was sure father would be waiting by the door when he walked in. Ten fifty... ten fifty three... ten fifty nine... eleven. Time felt like it was moving slower as it came closer to midnight, almost as if it was mocking him.

At eleven thirteen, the bell above the door rang and Gideon looked around for the first time, surprised to see that the diner was now empty. Granny herself came up to him and he asked, “Is it alright if I order another lasagna?” in hopes that she'd allow him to stay a little longer.

Granny chuckled. “Most people just drown their sorrows in wine.”

“I don't want to drown anything,” he lied. “I'm just hungry.”

“Sorry, the kitchen is closed. But you're welcome to sulk while I clean.”

Gideon sighed with relief, “Thank you,” and went back to staring at the wristwatch. It had been a gift from father and it was the most precious thing he'd ever been given, but right now it felt like it was mocking him by ticking slowly, refusing to make time go faster, or at least at a normal pace. If Gideon hadn't tuned it himself, he'd have taken the entire thing apart just to prove there was something wrong with it.

Eleven twenty three...

Eleven twenty seven...

Eleven thirty one...

He was so close to midnight, please, just a little more, just so he could see there was nothing wrong with birthdays, that this was just another day, ordinary but for the fact that everyone around him wanted to make such a fuss of it.

Eleven forty five...

Elevent forty six...

Eleven forty... six and eleven seconds...

Gideon rubbed his eyes. This was a nightmare. When he opened again, the watch didn't seem to have moved at all. He groaned loudly, catching Granny's attention as she wiped the counter.

After what felt like an eternity, all three hands of the clock came closer together, announcing only six more minutes to go. After that, he'd go home and face his parents.

The second hand had just completed another lap when the front door opened and he could see mother and father's reflection on the jukebox. He didn't turn to greet them. Father went straight to the counter to whisper something at Granny, and mother came to his table. She stood by his side and said, “You know, staring at it doesn't make it go backwards.”

“You never know,” Gideon said, without a hint of humor in his voice. Still, she took that as her cue to sit across from him. “Did you get tired of waiting?”

“Actually, we were waiting just fine, but then Granny texted me, saying that-”

“That your damaged son is staring at a clock like a crazy person?”

“My son is not damaged,” Belle said, firm, ready to defend his sanity, even to himself.

“Well, your son just snapped at someone who was trying to wish him a happy birthday, and then sat here to do nothing for six hours,” Gideon argued.

“Still, damaged is a strong word. My son is just... chipped.”

Gideon gave her a crooked smile at the familiar choice of words. “And there's nothing wrong with a chipped cup?”

“Absolutely nothing wrong with a chipped cup. They tend to be my favorites.”

Gideon looked back at the clock. Four minutes.

“I'm sorry about earlier,” he said. “You were only trying to help and I was rude.”

“You were upset and we kept pushing, sweetheart, I think there's plenty of apologies to go around.”

He shrugged. There was nothing to be said.

“How much longer?”

He turned the watch so she could see it.

“Three more minutes,” Belle read.

“All I wanted was to pretend this day didn't exist,” he said, looking at the clock once again, “now I can't stop thinking about it.”

He eyed father, who gave him a smile and a nod from the counter, but didn't join them just yet. Perhaps they didn't want him to feel crowded.

“Your father is really sorry for bringing up Roderick,” Belle told him.

“Yes, he shouldn't have done that,” he agreed. “But I'm not upset about Roderick.”

“I know. I figured it out. It's about this, isn't it?” Belle took the wristwatch from his hands and tapped a baby-blue nail on the glass. “Time.”

Gideon didn't say anything.

“I thought you wanted to avoid this day because of what happened when you turned twenty eight, that maybe it was too much to think about that. Or perhaps you didn't really understand what birthdays meant because you never had a real birthday before. It wasn't that, though, it was the number. Twenty nine.”

“I don't mind getting older,” he said, weakly, not really correcting her.

“I don't think you do. I just think you realized that, out of twenty nine years, _twenty eight_ were spent _there,_ with that horrible woman.”

His eyes flickered up from the clock to his mother's face, then lower, to his own hands.

He said, “That's my entire life, mother. I spent my entire life with Mothe-” He bit his lips and corrected himself. “With the Black Fairy. She took that from me and I'm never going to get those years back.”

“I know,” Belle nodded.

“I don't see why I'd start celebrating now. What difference does it make? And I know you're trying, and I'm happy here, I truly am, but it doesn't erase the wretched life I had. Twenty eight years is too much.”

Mother held his hand. He didn't look at her because he knew she'd be crying now and he hated it when she cried. He hated even more to be the cause of it.

“If you had told us, we would have done something-”

“Mother,” he said, firmly, “I know you're doing the best you can, but not everything can be fixed.” Gideon looked into her wet eyes. “Sometimes, life is just unfair. You can't give me back those years any more than I can give you a...” he sighed. “A son who isn't _chipped_.”

“The son I have is perfect,” mother said, holding on to his hand. “I wouldn't wish for any other.”

Beside them, Gideon heard father clear his throat, saving him from having to give her an answer. “Is it alright if I...?”

Belle wiped her face and nodded. Father sat down beside her. Gideon thought he might hold on to his hand as well, but he kept his under the table.

“Your mother's always been good at reading people, you know?” Rumple told his son.

“I know,” Gideon said.

“I'm sorry about Roderick.”

“It's fine. I'm sorry for being a jerk this week.”

Rumple shrugged. “You're my son. You probably take that after me.”

Gideon gave him the tiniest smile then looked at the wristwatch again.

“Two minutes past midnight,” he announced, absentmindedly. This was it, he was twenty nine. It didn't make him feel any different but, somehow, it was still unpleasant.

Neither his mother nor his father wished him a happy birthday.

“I think Granny wants to close now,” Gideon said. “Can we go home?”

“Actually,” mother said, “she gave us fifteen more minutes. Your father and I wanted to propose something.”

“Not another unbirthday tradition.”

“Not quite. It's something else.”

Without his usual showmanship, father revealed what he'd been hiding under the table. While Gideon and his mother were talking, he'd taken one of Granny's chocolate cupcakes and placed a birthday candle on top of it, the color of glittery gold. It was shaped like the number one, which made no sense to him.

“What is this?” Gideon asked, with a frown.

“If you'll indulge us,” father said, “we'd like to forget your birthday altogether and, instead, celebrate year one.”

“Year one of what?”

“Of starting over,” Belle explained. “You're right, we can't erase twenty eight years, sweetheart, and we know this doesn't make things better. But everyone was granted a fresh start when the Black Fairy was defeated, and that includes you.”

“Now, we know this is just a start but some day, if it's up to your mother and I, you'll have more happy years to count than unhappy ones. And this is the first.” Father pushed the plate that the cupcake was in towards him, adding, “If you'll have it, of course.”

Gideon stared at the silly, sparkling candle.

“Year one?” he repeated, testing the sound of it. It didn't make things better, didn't change the past or make it any easier to bear. But year one of something good sounded a lot better than year twenty nine of something miserable.

“If you want to,” mother said. “If you don't, we can just go home and pretend that-”

“Alright.”

His parents stared at him.

“Really?” father said. Clearly, this had been mother's idea and he'd allowed her to rope him up in it only because of his blind faith in her.

“I suppose... we all have to start somewhere,” Gideon said.

Father lit up the candle with a snap of his fingers before he had the chance to change his mind.

“What, I have to-”

“Yes, and make a wish.”

Gideon frowned. “Is the candle magic?”

“You never know,” father shrugged.

“And you wouldn't want to waste a wish if it were, right?” mother added. “You have to make it a good one.”

“A _feasible_ one, too. Candles can't grant you a raise.”

“I don't need a raise, father,” Gideon said, a little amused. But then he realized he wanted for nothing. His parents loved him, despite his shortcomings, and he'd been granted a second chance in this land. Life was far from perfect but, in retrospect, year one had been a happy year. If this was only the beginning, then he was hopeful.

He could only wish for many more to come.

Gideon blew the candle.

Belle clapped quietly. Rumple said, “Happy year one, son.”

It didn't change things, not really, but Gideon smiled nonetheless.

 

 

 

In a little over a week, the Mayor's office had taken over the Sorcerer's mansion, filling its previous quietness with determined chaos. Men and women were going up and down the stairs, taking pictures and measuring rooms while taking notes, each with their own idea to pitch. Mother had told him she was glad that the mansion had a library already because she did not want to join the fight for the best and biggest rooms.

There were so many people that Gideon had half a mind of turning around and doing this some other time, some other place. A place that didn't make him want to hiss with repulsion. But he'd already told mother he'd do it and he didn't want to go home now and tell her over dinner that he couldn't go through with it.

He dodged an angry looking Leroy who'd just been pushed out of a room by a woman that, Gideon was fairly sure, worked for Regina's office.

“For the last time, this is a community building now!” she all but shouted. “We're taking ideas that serve the community!”

“Poker night serves the community!” Leroy argued. “And that is a small room, what are you going to do with it anyway?”

Gideon found the right room and closed the door behind himself quickly, locking the noise on the other side. If this was what was going to happen to the building, this endless pandemonium, then he was more than glad to hand it over. He could find a place to be alone that didn't involve crazy neighbors.

Mulan, though, seemed to be doing just fine. She'd been granted the room that they'd fought over the week before and had wasted no time in making it hers. In a week, she'd removed the furniture and the landscape paintings from the walls, replacing them with the picture of a mighty stone dragon. At the moment, she was occupied with covering the entire floor with a puzzle-like carpet in a checkered blue and red pattern. She must have had a few unwanted visitors because she didn't even look up when she said, “This room is taken.”

She didn't sound or look very happy.

“You've redecorated, I see,” he said, before his nerves got the best of him and forced him to scurry away.

Mulan looked up, saw him, and didn't smile. Not that he blamed her.

“Oh. It's you again,” was all she said.

“Evening.”

“If you came here to fight over the room, take it up with the Mayor's office,” she said. “I've already had this conversation five times today and she already said I can have it.”

“It's not really that big,” Gideon noticed. When she glared, he added, “I'm just saying, your classes must be really small.”

“We're going to use the garden as well.”

He looked past her and through the glass doors. A big, hairy man was marking a small portion of the garden with rope.

“Anton wants to plant flowers,” she explained. “And Snow White wants to start a vegetable garden, but I can... rotate what's left of the garden with the rest of the- it'll work!” she snapped, as if he'd claimed otherwise.

“No, no, it will. I'm sure of it,” Gideon said, though he couldn't see how.

“And if you want a room as well, you better get started. Somewhere else.”

“I don't. I came here to apologize. To you.”

That caught her attention. Mulan stopped pushing pieces of the puzzle together and looked at him from the floor.

 _On to the hard part, I suppose_.

“I might have been ruder than usual.”

“You mean that's your natural disposition?”

“Pretty much, yes. But I was a little out of it last week. I just came here to say, you know, I'm sorry.”

Mulan nodded, looking as if his apology made little sense to her. Perhaps she wasn't used to being apologized to. Or perhaps people were just as much a mystery to her as they were to him.

“Thank you,” she said, still looking a little befuddled.

Gideon, who thought this was going to go a lot longer and a lot louder than it actually was, said, “Yes, well. I just came by to say that. I'll leave you to your... gigantic puzzle.”

“It's a tatami. So that people can fall during a fight without hurting themselves.”

“Shouldn't people be afraid of falling?” he asked, finding the arrangement rather counterproductive.

Mulan stared at him. “Who the hell taught you to fight?”

“She wasn't a very good person.”

“I can see that.”

“Well, I think I'll-”

“Is that why you won't join my classes?”

“What?”

“Bad experiences with a previous teacher? Because I assure you, I won't make you punch walls, and, uh-” She smacked the tatami hard with her hand. “This is safe.”

Gideon felt an unexpected and rather enthusiastic “Yes!” crawling up his throat because, sure, that seemed safe. It even looked a little... fun to fight over this ridiculous carpet, or outside while actively trying not to crush someone's flowers or vegetable garden, and he never really exercised outside but perhaps it wasn't as dreadful as he-

“I don't think so,” he said. “You wouldn't want me throwing students on the floor.”

“No, I suppose I wouldn't.”

“Anyway, good luck with your training center.”

He was about to leave when she asked, “I need a sparring partner, though,” making him stop.

“A what?”

“A sparring partner. Someone to practice with, not to teach. Someone to keep me on my toes. Emma mentioned you are quite skilled.”

She got up from the floor and Gideon took a good look at her. Without her shoes she looked even smaller.

“She must not have told you the whole story,” he said, “We didn't fight for the fun of it.”

“She told me she defeated you.”

“That's not- I was holding back!”

“Show off,” she teased.

“And anyway, I'm much bigger than you.”

“I've fought bigger.”

“Now who's showing off?”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “I'll tell you what, why don't we try for three minutes?”

“Try what?”

“Sparring. If you knock me down in three minutes, you can use this room to yourself whenever you want.”

“ _Whenever_ I want?” he repeated, that promise peeking his interest. There had to be a time of day or night when the mansion wasn't as chaotic, right?

“But if I knock you down, you become my sparing partner.” She pointed a finger at him. “And we're not punching walls anymore.”

Gideon eyed the door, then her. “My parents are expecting me for dinner.”

“In three minutes?”

“No... not in three minutes.”

She put her fists up.

Gideon watched her for a minute. There was no way this could even _take_ three minutes.

“I knock you down, I get the room,” he said, taking his shoes and tie off.

“I knock you down, you become my partner,” she said.

Gideon stepped into the soft carpet already feeling victorious. Regardless of the outcome, he was getting that room.

 


End file.
